


Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

by annebenedicte



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annebenedicte/pseuds/annebenedicte
Summary: Bernie surprises Serena on a flying visit - She's come back from Nairobi to see her and plan, but





	Each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

She hadn’t been expecting a trumpet fanfare, and she understood, really – Serena was at work, and when an urgent operation awaited …nothing else mattered. She would have done the same – of course she would have. And obviously the theatre wasn’t the best place to have a heart-to-heart, but after all, she had planned to spend the day with Serena. The meeting with the solicitor for the sale of her house wasn’t until the next day, so she had thought …Well, she had thought a lot those last few months – alternated between hope and despondency. She had thought about coming back for good – after all, maybe it was her chance to stay put for once, to rebuild something solid with Serena. And then she had thought of the opportunity given to her in Nairobi. She couldn’t exactly remember why she’d thought it so important at the time – but it had to do with offering Serena a new lease on life – giving both of them a common project – a common goal. Giving them the opportunity to leave Holby and its phantoms for good.  
As she scrubbed in preparation for the thoracotomy, she replayed in her mind the first few minutes of their reunion. The twinges of anxiety that had appeared when the plane took off from Nairobi the day before had not disappeared when their lips had merged – far from it. She knew Serena so well that even after several months, she could read her whole face, her whole body. And Serena’s face had told her the surprise may not have been a completely welcome one. All those months of emails, Skype conversations, texts …all those missed opportunities to talk because one of them was at work, or because Serena was busy with Jason. Only two hours’ time lag, but so many miles, so many unsaid words.  
Ric hadn’t changed – and she couldn’t help thinking that he seemed happier to see her than Serena …It also brought back bitter memories – that last day in the trauma unit – of course, the closure had been due to budget cuts – she knew that – but something in her told her that maybe, just maybe it was because she hadn’t been able to hack it. Especially on her own. Maybe she should have fought more, maybe she should have been better. So she’d left a “real legacy”, had she? Why did she feel she had to prove herself all over again, then?  
“You haven’t told them?”  
No, of course Serena hadn’t told them – because she hadn’t even told herself. She had known – and yet she’d brought the contract – she had sold the house, made an offer on a new one in Nairobi – a big one, big enough for Serena and herself to have their own space, and for their families to visit. Families …did she really have a family? At 52 …her son was living his own life, and her daughter didn’t want anything to do with her. Serena had a family …  
“I’m family, but you’re not.” “You’re Serena’s wife.” “Serena has funny ideas about family…” Bernie gulped – why did those words send shivers down her spine? That was what she’d come back for, after all – to arrange everything for Serena to come and join her. They could make a life together – they would make a life together. And yet – seeing Greta’s round belly made her feel uneasy – she tried to switch back to consultant mode, but the young woman’s remarks hit an uncomfortable spot in her own stomach. They reminded her that she’d been a failure at family. Her parents had not given her the best example possible, of course. They had been kind and loving in their own way, she supposed – in a cold, undemonstrative way. General and Mrs Wolfe had brought her up on army bases, a rather solitary little girl with few chances to make close friends as there was always another mission, another deployment, and they would move to another camp, another country. Her mother had relied on her strong Presbyterian faith to get her through. She used to sing in the chapels’ choirs, to lead bible classes. When they’d finally moved back to England, she had agreed to see a doctor for the stomach pains she’d had for several months. The cancer had spread and at fifteen, Berenice had been left at boarding school by her father, one week after her mother’s death. The General hadn’t been best pleased when she’d decided to study medicine – nor when she’d chosen to join the RMC, a few months after her marriage to Marcus. All those years trying to make her father proud …her husband proud – and she had failed. The only relief was that her father had died without knowing the shambles she’d made of her life – he would have been horrified by her divorce, even more appalled to know the cause of it. So… ”family”? She shuddered. She didn’t want a family – didn’t need a family – she wanted a companion – a soulmate – a lover – not a family.  
“Believe? Always.” But there was no always – only in fairy tales did happily ever after exist. Only it hurt – it hurt so much when you tried to believe in dreams. Because it had all been a dream. A dream where apparently she was “Berenice Wolfe, Serena Campbell’s paramour” – not her partner, not her companion – just a distant mistress, a love interest in name only. She had believe that life would give her – would give them a second chance. But it didn’t work like that – it never worked like that. She had seen too many die on the fields, in theatre, sometimes after successful operations, to believe in second chances. Life never offered a retest – you had to dive in straight away, you had to take a chance. And maybe she’d not dared enough. Maybe …maybe what she’d thought of as a chance had been another flight. Maybe  
“I choose you.” But you don’t, do you? Not really, because how could you? Your silences say it all – you can’t leave, and I can’t ask you to. Maybe Greta is right – maybe if Elinor had lived … But I can never be enough for you – I can’t compete with a dead daughter and a living family. You can’t even commit to have dinner. Are you afraid you might get drunk again? You might tell people I’m the “great love affair of your life” by mistake… Only – I don’t want us to be a love affair – I want us to last – I want us to be together - and yet I can’t ask you to leave everything for me. Because you would resent me in the end. “Happily ever after” has never be in the cards for me – why should it now?  
Serena had given her the keys to her house – easier than to give her promises, easier than to give her hope. She couldn’t face that empty house, full of ghosts and memories – full of dark nights spent consoling Serena after Elinor’s death, full of bright nights of love and hope. So she retreated to the impersonal hotel room she’d booked for the two days she would be in Holby. A room with a well-stocked mini-bar. After a scotch on a still empty stomach, the pain dulled a little. Not much – not enough, never enough. To think she’d chastised Serena for using alcohol to drown her sorrow – she wasn’t much better, after all. All of Serena’s remarks, hesitations, climbdowns had been as many slaps in the face. Scotch wouldn’t be enough – she still had a few pills from her army days – the ones they’d got when they’d had to sleep on command – they were probably out of date, but it didn’t matter. They would probably work – give her a few hours of respite. Serena’s accusations were ringing in her head: “you’re ambushing me”, “You won’t even support me on this one thing”, “I’m leaving my whole life for you.” Primum non nocere … No one deserved to suffer, but maybe she deserved it – maybe – but she couldn’t really take anymore. The tears she had held in check all day finally came. She briefly wondered how Greta was getting on. And then she thought that she really didn’t care. She didn’t want to care anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> title borrowed, of course, from Tolstoy


End file.
